


Transfiguration

by Maldon, Random_person_500



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Legally Blonde References, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Updates Are Sporadic Sorry, but it’s still updating!!, ftm character, trans main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maldon/pseuds/Maldon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_person_500/pseuds/Random_person_500
Summary: Muggle-born Gareth dreams of getting a letter and going to Hogwarts, just like his sister did.  But when it came--IF it came--what name would be on the envelope?  The one his parents called him?  Or the one he called himself?
Comments: 27
Kudos: 29





	1. The Hogwarts Letter

**Author's Note:**

> We're posting this now in support of other HP fans who are members of the LGBTQIA+ community, especially trans folks, in response to Rowling's transphobia. Chapters will be posted as we finish them. Constructive criticism is welcome; transphobic assholery will be deleted.

Gareth had looked forward to his eleventh birthday as long as he could remember. But his yearning for a Hogwarts letter had little do with chocolate frogs or butterbeer, or even Quidditch. Even magic was only a secondary interest, strange as it was to have learned _magic_ was real, when his sister got her letter. 

For Gareth, a Hogwarts letter meant _escape_. 

He sat crosslegged on his bed, pretending to watch YouTube on his phone. He’d seen _Legally Blonde_ dozen of times—twice already today—and could sing along while glancing at the window every other line. 

_Snick!_

His duet with Elle (as she made over Elliot’s wardrobe) was interrupted by the sharp sound of someone knocking on glass. Or _something_. Something sharp and hard. Like a beak. 

Although he’d been waiting for it all day, the sound managed to catch him by surprise, as if he’d been afraid it wouldn’t come. 

Which was, of course, the truth. Unlike his brother and sister, Gareth had not had the terrifying (but reassuring, once they’d learned about magic) experience of ‘odd’ things happening around him. He didn’t realize, until the owl’s knock, that he hadn’t really, not _really_ , been expecting it. 

With shaking hands he pushed up the window. The owl dipped its head and stepped gracefully into his bedroom, then spread its wings and glided to perch on the footboard of his bed. It was a beautiful owl, although he hadn’t a clue what kind of owl. Its feathers were mostly brown, but gold flecked the tips of its outstretched wings and its tail. As he watched, it folded its wings with an air of slow dignity. Its beak was more black than brown. 

A letter was clamped in that beak. 

Gareth’s breath caught. Even an owl knocking on his window had not _entirely,_ one hundred percent, convinced him a Hogwarts letter had come. 

The owl stretched its neck slightly, as if holding out the letter to him. He raised a hand to take it. But then he saw the writing on the envelope. His breath huddled in his chest. Hope shriveled to dust on his tongue. 

Hogwarts would not be the escape he’d hoped for. 

His heart crashed from wild excitement at the owl’s arrival to a dull, throbbing—but all too familiar—ache. He thought about shooing the owl back out the window, letter still in its beak. About not taking, not opening, that envelope. 

But…how would that help? Would staying here be better? He shuddered, trying to imagine surviving at home six more years until he came of age. No, _seven_ more years, if he stayed in the Muggle world. Not. Possible. Hogwarts might not be better. But it could hardly be worse. 

The owl blinked patiently, but stretched its neck a few millimeters closer. 

Gareth sighed, still staring at the address. _Agnes Warwick, 150 Croxton Road, Thetford._ “Thank you,” he told the owl as he reached out his hand. The owl released the envelope as his fingertips closed on the corner. 

_Hogwarts can’t be worse,_ he told himself again. _Hogwarts could not possibly--_

As he grasped the letter, the address shimmered. The ink blurred, swirling, then reformed. _Gareth Warwick, 150 Croxton Road, Thetford_. 

The writing blurred again, but this time because Gareth was blinking away tears. One small change. Hardly anything. But it was _everything_. Someone at Hogwarts _knew_. Someone understood. Understood enough to even enchant the letter, so he, and only he, would see what it really said. Who it was _really_ addressed to. 

He opened the letter carefully, sliding his finger under the seal, not breaking the wax. When he set the envelope down, the ink blurred back to its original appearance, so he picked it up and set it on his knee. His real name promptly returned. Grinning, he unfolded the letter. 

_Dear Mr. Warwick,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Terms begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Deputy Headmaster,_

_Filius Flitwick_

Pleased as he was, Gareth merely skimmed the letter. After all, except for the surprising but exhilarating use of his real name—which he had written over and over for years, _Gareth Alfred Warwick_ , but never said aloud to anyone, and he decided to put aside for now the question of how they had _known_ —the words themselves were exactly the same as Abby’s had been. It was the post script that caught and held his attention. 

_Once you are in residence, you may wish to consult with me. I have been giving thought to your situation and may be able to offer some assistance. I was, after all, professor of transfiguration for many years._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

This time Gary’s smile could have ignited a torch. Hogwarts knew, and they wanted to help. He touched the letter. They _had_ helped. The Headmistress was thinking about ways to help him. He tried to contain his excitement. She had not, after all, promised anything. She didn’t say she knew of a spell that could make his body match his mind. She had said she would try to help. Nothing more. 

But nothing else. 

Hogwarts was going to be wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an idea Maldon and I came up with cause there're never to much trans positive HP stuff :D.  
> Maldon is more the good writing and grammar one and I, Sir Random boi, am the resident trans™ and idea man 😎  
> (btw I'm ftm hence why Gareth is ftm as I have intimate knowledge of what that is like)  
> -Random


	2. Mr. Ollivander

First, though, he had to get there. Which meant pretending for his parents a few more weeks. He checked the calendar on his phone. Eleven weeks and three days between his birthday and September 1. Forever. But in another way, not that long. He’d been pretending for them for years. He could pretend a bit longer. 

The letter had reverted to his dead name when he handed it to them. He’d folded it back into the envelope and gave it to them address-side down. He had no idea how the enchantment worked. If he still held the letter, but the address was in view to them, which name they see? Better safe than sorry. Literally and metaphorically. He had no idea how they would respond when they found out. But certain remarks by his father, left unchallenged by his mother, gave him a clue. To the Hogwarts letter itself, they responded as expected, although with an insulting amount of relief. 

They seemed to have some guilt about that relief, or at least about showing it, because the trip to Diagon Alley proved unexpectedly generous. His mother bought him new robes rather than secondhand, although the surprise and pleasure was tempered by her gushing to Madame Malkin about how excited she was for ‘her second little girl to be going off to Hogwarts.’ He winced every time she said it but Madame Malkin obviously thought she was being careless with the pins and checked more and more carefully as she inserted them into the hem. 

Then it was time for his wand. His mother went into Ollivander’s with him, while his father went to buy his trunk.

“Good afternoon,” Gareth’s mother chirped brightly. “We need a wand.” She leaned conspiratorially onto the counter, chin propped on one hand. “Our second daughter to go to Hogwarts, and my husband and I both Muggles. Imagine that!”

Ollivander turned the full force of his pale eyes on them. His gaze flicked from Gareth’s mother, to Gareth, then repeated the circuit. “Madam, I find it best to work with the children alone. The wand choses the wizard, you know. It’s easier to find the right pairing without distractions.” He made shooing motions towards the door.

“But—“

Ollivander flapped his hand faster. “Really, I must insist.” 

“But when we brought Abigail—”

Ollivander stepped around the counter and opened the door. He caught Gareth’s mother’s elbow and steered her, gently but firmly, out of it. “Some cases are more straightforward than others. Not all wizards are alike, no more than all Muggles are. I can tell when a young one will need focused attention. Come back in half an hour.”

He closed the door and turned back to Gareth. “Now let’s see what we can do.” 

The eighth wand Ollivander put into his hand warmed against his skin. His hand tingled from the wand’s welcome, firm as a handshake, warm as a hug. He had assumed he would try to make friends on the train, but as the wand nestled into his palm like a tired kitten, seeming to say, _There you are! At last!,_ he couldn’t help but think his first friend was already there. 

“Black walnut and unicorn hair. Thirteen and a quarter inches. A masculine…hmm, perhaps ‘powerful’ is a better word…” His eyes twinkled. He returned the wand to its box. “A good fit, young sir.” 

Gareth blinked in surprise at the old man’s bland acceptance. “Sir,” he repeated after a moment. “You—you’re not…?” He hardly knew how to ask what he wanted to ask. 

Mr. Ollivander looked at him down the considerable length of his nose. “You are not the first young person to come into my shop whose appearance does not quite match his soul.” He sighed. “One would think wizards, who know better than Muggles how unreliable appearance can be, would understand.” He lifted one long finger. “But most do not. Be careful where you bestow trust, young one.”

Gareth answered the old man’s grave expression with a slow nod. “I will. Thank you, sir.” 

Mr. Ollivander held out the wand box. “Some first years prefer to carry them, but I find that leads to unfortunate accidents. Still, most body parts were restored, if not all postboxes and automobile bumpers.” 

Gareth opened the box, needing one last look at his beautiful new wand. “No magic outside school.” He put the lid back on. “I certainly don’t want any trouble.” 

“Best to start as you mean to go on,” the wandmaker said. Gareth thought the old man was trying to tell him something more than it seemed but what, he couldn’t guess. 

The bell tinkled as the door opened. Mr. Ollivander turned to help the next child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just especially adorable and Ollivander is just so sweet! Also Abigail is Gareth 's older sister she is about 7 years older so she's out of Hogwarts and has moved out (she'll come back later for some good sibling feels).  
> -Random


	3. The Wait

Gareth sat on the floor in his bedroom, surrounded on all sides by Diagon Alley purchases. His trunk stood to his right. It was larger than he’d expected his parents to buy, and it had shining brass clasps and a lock, much nicer than the usual plain steel. The lid was open but the trunk was empty. He was far too excited at looking over his new possessions to pack them away yet. 

His wand, cozy in its box, sat in his lap, as did his Hogwarts letter. Every time his name on the envelope caught his eye, he grinned down at it. His new robes, all three sets, were neatly folded on the floor to his left. His cloak was beside them, and on top of it sat his hat. Each item of clothing was neatly labelled, but mercifully, with only his last name. The labels were currently out of sight inside the brim and/or collars, small square black letters on soft but sturdy white cloth. Since his parents had bought so many items and all new, Madame Malkin had included labelling for free. 

On his other side, the dragon-hide gloves rested one on top on the other. They were too thick and stiff to fold. In front of him, his schoolbooks made an arc, a rainbow of leather bindings, each volume’s title and author in gold on the spine and cover. He looked over them, dreaming about what he would learn, but did not pick any up and start to work ahead. He was not about to do _anything_ to risk being expelled. He smiled at the letter. Not with help waiting. Beside his gloves, carefully out of reach of a carelessly flung arm, were his other required equipment: telescope, glass phials, brass scales, and cauldron. 

In a cage on his dresser, a bog owl slept, head tucked under one wing. His parents hadn’t asked him which pet, if any, he would like. They’d simply had the cage and owl when they met him outside Ollivander’s. “We got one for Abigail too,” his mother said. “An owl is _such_ a good idea. Abby sent a letter home every week.” 

Gareth doubted he would be sending home letters once a week. Abby, his older sister, was the perfect one. She’d earned perfect marks in their local Muggle elementary school. She was sweet-tempered, well-behaved, and kept both herself and her room clean and tidy without being asked. Of course, since Abby was seven years older than himself, he knew all this mostly because his parents constantly wondered why he couldn’t be more like her. Roger, the youngest, was the exact opposite. In trouble at school every week, from fistfights to pranks, some of which his parents now suspected were caused by unconscious magic. But even without magic popping out, Roger was difficult. He careened around the house like an over-caffeinated hummingbird, knocking things over. When Gareth had emerged from Ollivander’s, his parents were already there, owl cage on the cobblestones beside them, discussing what to do about Roger. Another boy had teased him in summer football camp, and the boy had ended up falling against a goal post and breaking his nose. No one _saw_ Roger do anything, but the boy swore Roger must have pushed him somehow. 

His parents barely looked up when he approached. Neither asked about his wand. 

Gareth tried to sympathize with Roger’s struggles and his parents’ difficulties with him. He really did. He’d been bullied himself. But he couldn’t help but resent Roger’s problems butting in. Everything was always about Abigail or Roger. Abby made their parents glow with pride. Roger made them despair. Between them, there was no room for Gareth. Even if they hadn’t been so LGBTQIA-phobic, he would have been leery of trying to explain it to them. They had no attention left for him. 

He took the Hogwarts letter out of its envelope again. He had the post script memorized by now, but he read it anyway. 

_Once you are in residence, you may wish to consult with me. I have been giving thought to your situation and may be able to offer some assistance. I was, after all, professor of transfiguration for many years._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

The first of September. He just had to make it to the first of September.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Owl has a name don’t worry also bog owls look like this!!  
> [Owls!!!!!](https://www.google.com/search?q=small+eared+owl&source=lmns&bih=553&biw=375&client=safari&prmd=isvn&hl=en&ved=2ahUKEwj6saGEvs3qAhXDA98KHbYwC50Q_AUoAHoECAAQAw#imgrc=sc2GOoRHVE3m_M)  
> :D  
> -Random


	4. All Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Gareth would have liked a moment to savor his first trip to Platform 9 3/4. Well, he’d been there when Abigail first left for Hogwarts, but it wasn’t the same. Not at all. For one thing, he’d been four years old. He barely remembered it. But also, at that time he was just a younger sibling, and Roger pinched him every chance he got. By the time the train left, with Abigail waving at them until it was out of sight, both his wrists were red. Roger had been smart enough to pinch under the cuff where it wouldn’t show. 

No such luck. His parents hurried them through the barrier, his mother ahead with Roger, his father pushing the trolley. Their mother was busy trying to keep Roger from sneaking onto the train. Their father helped him load his trunk and went back down the stairs without even offering a hug, which suited Gareth just fine. 

Roger was now sandwiched, each parent holding a hand, but the gleam in his eyes told Gareth that his brother had not given up hope of escaping and stowing away. Their parents must have noticed too. They gave a lackluster wave, which Gareth returned with equal enthusiasm. He watched as they turned to go. They left before the train did, tugging Roger firmly along. 

He tried to feel something other than relief as he watched their departing forms. He knew, deep inside him, there _was_ another emotion. He wanted their attention. Their love. But he didn’t dare let those feelings surface. 

Around him, students jostled down the aisle, peering through doorways until they found friends or an empty compartment. But Gareth had a different goal. He let the crowd tug him along, past the open doors, students peeling off the queue left and right into compartments, until at last there was no one between him and his destination: the lavatory. He didn’t need to use the facilities in the traditional sense, but he absolutely needed the private little space as quickly as possible. Before anyone saw him. Before anyone _noticed_ him. 

He locked the door and went to work. 

He pulled out scissors. He’d been asking for a short haircut for three years. He’d found pictures of stylish bobs, sleek pixie cuts—styles he’d thought might be acceptable. But his parents had refused. Such pretty hair, they said. We like our girls with long hair, they said. Just look at Abby’s lovely hair, they said. With one hand he held his ponytail, as close to the nape of his neck as he could, and with the other he began cutting. 

It was more difficult than he’d expected. Not a few snips. It was more like sawing through. But at last the heavy mass of hair came free. He stuffed it into the bin, then studied himself in the mirror. It was not, even to the untrained eye, a good cut. It was a hack job in every sense. Using the mirror, twisting to see various sides of his head, he snipped, trying to make his hair all uniform length. 

This turned out to be even harder than lopping off the ponytail had been. 

At last he gave up. It would have to do. Lots of kids had bad haircuts. Who wanted to sit still that long, for goodness’ sake? It was fine. More than fine. He studied his reflection. Okay. It was choppy. It stood up in places. But the boy looking out at him was _himself_ , not some girl he was pretending to be. 

He gave his reflection an approving nod, then tucked the scissors back into his bag and pulled out his robes and the boy’s tee shirt and jeans to wear under it. Some wizarding adults wore nothing (except underwear, probably? He’d never asked any of the bare-legged wizards he’d seen because ewwww) under their robes, but Abigail said most kids at Hogwarts wore jeans and t-shirts under their robes. He jerked off the dress his mother had insisted upon, hearing something rip and not caring. He considered stuffing it into the waste bin as well but decided if someone noticed, they might ask questions. He did not want anybody asking questions. When he got off the train at Hogsmeade Station, he would look like the boy he was. 

Gareth grinned at his reflection, a broad, incredulous, ecstatic smile. For the first time, he was looking at himself. Not a girl who looked kind of like him, like Abigail did, but _himself_ , the boy he saw in his head when he thought _Gareth Alfred Warwick_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The parents are FINALLY gone uughh  
> Also I’m going to draw Gareth (With his lackluster haircut) soon so I will probably link my tumblr or something :/  
> This is my tumblr: [ https://the-third-brother-500.tumblr.com/post/624001086296096768/transfiguration-chapter-4-maldon ](https://the-third-brother-500.tumblr.com/post/624001086296096768/transfiguration-chapter-4-maldon)
> 
> And fun fact I actually had that moment of looking into the mirror and going *this is who I am* and like the music swells and it’s all heart warming was when I cut my hair (it was not with scissors my parents are super chill and I cut my hair before I even came out to them)  
> :D  
> -Random


	5. New Friend!

The train was moving by the time Gareth emerged from the washroom. He walked down the aisle, looking for the compartment where his father had stashed his trunk and owl cage. When he found it, it was, mercifully, not full. In fact, only one person, a girl, was sitting there. She sat with one foot tucked under her, the other propped on her own trunk, which was inconveniently sitting between the seats rather than stowed with Gareth’s. She had a book on her lap, one of the required school textbooks by the look of it, and was fiddling with the end of her long black braid. 

She glanced up as he stepped through the doorway. She looked him up and down, raising her eyebrows. “Changed into school robes already? A bit keen, aren’t you?”

Gareth looked pointedly at the book in her lap. “I’m the keen one?” 

She glanced down as if she’d forgotten the book was there and laughed. “Fair point.” She looked past him at the open doorway. “Are all the other compartments full?”

“I don’t know. My stuff is here.” 

Suddenly the train jerked, jostling him. He caught himself on the door jam. 

“Come on then.” She hoisted her trunk into the rack and sat back down. 

He perched on the seat opposite. “Why didn’t you do that before?”

“I didn’t really want anyone joining me. But now the train’s moving so most people have already settled in.” She looked back down at her book.

“Oh. Sorry. Should I go?”

“No, it’s fine. One person is okay. I just didn’t want to find myself crammed into a crowded car. I was waiting for you to show up. Where were you anyway?” 

Gareth stared. “How did you know I was come to this compartment?”

She looked up long enough to roll her eyes extravagantly. “Not you _specifically_.” She tipped her head at his trunk. “But someone. _One_ someone.” 

“Oh.” 

She closed her book. Gareth felt like he’d passed some sort of test, like he was interesting enough to stop reading for. “I very much hope to be sorted into Ravenclaw. What about you?”

“I don’t think I’m smart enough for Ravenclaw. You are, though.”

“I hope so,” she said fervently. “Which House do you want?”

“Hufflepuff.” He braced. 

But her broad smile returned. “Excellent. Hufflepuff is great.” 

“Really?” His family might be new to the Wizarding World but even they had heard about Hufflepuff’s reputation.

“Absolutely. Who has time for all that Slytherin/Gryffindor drama? I just want to study. I hear Hufflepuffs are great study partners. They always bring snacks. Speaking of,” she dug in a pocket, coming up with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “Want some?” 

“Sure.” Gareth leaned forward. She sprinkled jelly beans into his hand.

“I’m Hari, by the way.” 

Gareth stared. She didn’t look especially hairy. Even if she was, why would she tell him? Then it hit. Oh. OH. Was she named after…? He felt his mouth drop open as he stared at her.

“I know what you’re going to ask, and no. It’s spelled with one ‘r’ and an ‘i.’ It’s short for Harriet, but no one calls me that except my parents.” 

Gareth nodded. He opened his mouth to respond but she went on. 

“I _am_ named after someone famous, but not that one. My grandparents opened a bookshop when they came here from India and my dad worked there. My mom came in one day looking for a Dorothy Sayers novel. _Gaudy Night_ is one of my dad’s favorite books. Boom. That was that. One of the main characters is named Harriet. They didn’t realize how it would look, naming me that so soon after…” She shrugged. “It could have been lots worse. The male lead in the Sayers series is named Peter.” 

Gareth shuddered. _That_ would have been terrible. It wasn’t so bad, people assuming you were named after Harry Potter. But people thinking your parents named you for Peter Pettigrew? Nightmare. “So do you like those books? The ones you’re named after?”

Hari grimaced. “I can’t get past the first chapter. Wait. You haven’t told me your name.”

He tried to speak casually. It was the first time he’d introduced himself by his real name. 

“I’m Gareth.” He felt lightheaded, and he knew he was smiling broadly, but he was so happy. _His name._

“Is that what you go by? Gareth? Not Gary?”

“Gareth,” he said firmly. 

“Good. Hari and Gary? That would never work. Rhyming. Bleah.” She made a face. “But Hari and Gareth? They can be friends.” 

“They can?” Gareth felt dizzy. It might have the heady excitement of participating in his first interaction as a boy, and the other person not suspecting a thing. It might have been the odd seesawing of the conversation, thinking she must be named for the most famous wizard of all time, then realizing otherwise. But maybe it was just her. Hari simply seemed to live at a faster rate than he was used to. She was smart and nice, and such a striking presence, and outgoing. But also seriously cool. He wanted to be her friend. 

Her face fell. “Unless you would rather not.”

“What? No! I mean, of course I do. If you want,” he added, wanting not to seem desperate. 

“Great.” Her lightning grin flashed again. She picked her book up. “I think I’ve worked out one of the simpler spells. Want me to show you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREIND   
> They are so awkward and it’s adorable. I posted a picture of Hari on my tumblr [Link](https://the-third-brother-500.tumblr.com/post/624277655784669184/gareth-is-on-the-train-to-hogwarts-and-meets-hari)  
> I also posted a picture of Gareth (linked in the chapter 4 notes) 
> 
> I remember the first time I introduced myself to a new person with my name and the unrivaled joy that it gave me. I still have that small feeling of happiness when I get to introduce myself with my proper name I’ve though it’s been years.   
> Also, while I personally am a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuffs are awesome and should be respected and if you disagree fucking fight me D:<
> 
> Hope everyone is having a good day and feed back is always appreciated :D  
> -Random


	6. The Owl

Gareth gripped his wand. “ _Lumos_.” The end of his wand remained stubbornly unlit. 

“Easy,” Hari said soothingly. “You’re going to snap it. Gentle. Magic is a partnership between you and your wand.” She pulled out her own wand. By this time she had also changed into robes. 

Gareth studied her wand. Hari noticed his gaze. “Applewood, dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches,” she said proudly. It was a deep red-brown, covered with tiny carved stars, clustered by her hand and dispersing out towards the tip. They were a lighter color than the rest of the wand. She held it out, her grip light but firm. “Keep the fingers loose. Use your thumb to direct the movement. Like this. _Lumos!”_ Light glowed at the end of her wand, the stars along its length seeming to shine with their own light as well. 

In its cage, Gareth’s owl stirred at the sudden brightness. He blinked, seemingly annoyed. 

“Sorry,” Hari smiled. She put a finger through the bars and stroked the owl’s beak. “What’s your name?”

The owl blinked reproachfully at Gareth, then hooted mournfully at Hari. “He hasn’t given you a name yet?” She looked at Gareth. “Why hadn’t you given him a name?”

“How could you know that?”

“Well, have you?”

“No.” Gareth felt his shoulders hunch. “My parents picked him out. They didn’t even ask if I wanted an owl.”

She opened the cage door to run a hand lightly down the owl’s back. “Why does that matter? It’s not his fault. He didn’t ask to be yours any more than you asked for him. But here you are. So what’s his name?”

Mortification flooded through him. She was right. It wasn’t the owl’s fault, and he’d neglected the poor thing. Sure, he’d fed and watered it, but Hari had given it more care and attention in five minutes than he had in a month. So, basically, he’d treated the owl the way his parents treated him. In other words, not cool. He moved closer so he could stroke the owl’s head. The owl’s eyes closed and he cooed happily. “I’m sorry,” Gareth said. “I’ll do better, I promise. Do you have a name already or would you like me to pick one?”

The owl hooted. 

“He said pick one, please,” Hari said.

“How…?”

She took her wand back out, having tucked it away when the owl woke. “Mr. Ollivander said one of things applewood wands look for is a desire to connect with other magical beings.”

Gareth wasn’t entirely sure that explained her ability to understand the owl, but okay. “Um. All right. Owl names. Hmm.” A series of truly terrible names marched through his mind. Fluffy? Hootie? Bright eyes? Mr. Brown? No way--those were awful. He looked desperately around the room. Seat? Train? Trunk? That was worse. His eyes landed on the textbook she’d been reading. “Um. Emeric? How about Emeric?”

Hari raised an eyebrow. With conscious slowness, she swiveled her gaze to the textbook. Its spine said _Emeric Switch. A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration._ “Just a random stroke of inspiration?”

Gareth felt himself blush. “Something like that.” He turned his attention determinedly back to the owl. “How’s that? You like Emeric?”

Okay, there was no way the owl just nodded…? But it sure seemed like agreement. “Emeric,” Gareth said, more firmly. Emeric hooted approvingly. 

For the rest of the journey, Emeric settled onto the seat beside Gareth, nipping at owl treats from the trolley, and cooing encouragingly as Gareth tried again to light up the tip of his wand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Hari’s character!!   
> Smart, sarcastic, friendly, and energetic it’s just so fun.  
> So we did research on wands and I will draw everybody’s wands eventually :T
> 
> But Maudlin actually originally thought of Hari as a white girl (I had never imagined her like that) so we had a moment when of just ?????? on both sides   
> Have a good day everybody :D  
> -Random


	7. More Friends?

By the time the train reached Hogsmeade station, Gareth had mastered _lumos_ , Hari was beaming like the sun, and Gareth was convinced the Sorting Hat would barely brush the top of her hair before bellowing “Ravenclaw.” She was not only a born scholar but a great teacher. 

They made their way together to one of the boats, following the swinging lantern carried aloft by the largest man Gareth had ever seen. 

“Hagrid,” Hari whispered, when it became obvious Gareth didn’t realize who he was. 

“ _The_ Hagrid?” Gareth tried not to stare. He’d heard of him—who hadn’t?—but the looming, loud figure that greeted them at the station was hard to square with the kind-hearted man he’d heard about. 

She grinned. Smiling seemed to be her default setting. “It might be best that there’s only the one.” 

It soon became obvious that the trick she’d used to keep the train compartment to themselves wasn’t going to work in the boat. For one thing, their trunks weren’t with them. For another, there weren’t enough boats to leave seats unfilled. Despite Hari’s best efforts—she could make her legs look reeaaaally long when she stretched them out—at last two more students were forced to join them. It was a boy and a girl, both with coal-black hair and blue eyes, looking so much alike they had to be related. 

The boy scowled he pushed his way past and dropped into a seat, rocking the boat. Gareth grabbed the side. The boy smirked at him, clearly amused by Gareth’s alarmed reaction. The girl squeezed between them to the last open seat. 

“Are you—” Hari began.

“Welsh?” The boy growled, showing his teeth. “Got a problem with that?”

Hari grinned. “I knew that as soon as you opened your mouth.”

So had Gareth. The accent was unmistakable. 

The boy’s expression darkened like a thundercloud. The girl tugged worriedly at his arm. He ignored her.

“What I was actually asking,” Hari said, “was whether you two are twins.”

“Oh,” the boy said lamely. Then he rolled his eyes. “Well, _obviously_.” 

The girl smiled apologetically. “Yes, we are.” Then she, too, grabbed the side of the boat as it began to move, eyes widening. 

The boat glided across the lake. The four of them sat silent, watching the dark shore slide past. Then they rounded a bend, and their mouths fell open as Hogwarts came into view. The towers were cloaked in the gathering shadows of twilight, the stones of the castle a shade lighter than the darkening sky. But the lighted windows were pools of warmth and welcome in the darkness, beckoning and inviting, while those left unlit sparkled in the moonlight. 

“Oh,” the Welsh girl breathed. 

_Oh_ was right, Gareth thought. 

“No kidding,” Hari whispered. 

The black-haired boy sniffed. But Gareth noticed that his eyes were shining as much as his sister’s and Hari’s. 

The boat glided to the dock and stopped, bobbing gently in the water. The Welsh boy climbed out, then offered his hand to his sister. It was clear now, on a closer look, that he was several inches taller than his sister. She let him help her out, then elbowed him until he offered his hand to Hari, then Gareth. Gareth was pleased, certain the other boy helped Hari first because she was a girl. Which meant _he_ looked like just another boy. His heart glowed warm and full. 

There was no reason, necessarily, to stay huddled with their boat companions as they waited to enter the Great Hall, but for most students, it seemed, near-strangers were preferable to total strangers. It was the same for Gareth. Hari was his only friend in the crowd, even if a brand-new one. Even the Welsh twins were better than the anonymous press of people. 

They must have thought so too. The girl looked at Gareth, then Hari. “Call me Carrie.” She shook Hari’s hand, then Gareth’s, and they introduced themselves in return. Gareth’s chest filled with excitement when he said his name.

Her brother scowled. “Cerridwen. Her name is Cerridwen.” 

She slanted him a look. “I know my name. But most people find it hard to pronounce.” She tipped her head towards him. “He’s Cai, by the way.”

Hari offered Cai her hand but he ignored it. “It’s your name,” he went on. “You have the right to be called by your own name.”

“I agree,” Hari said, earning an almost comical look of astonishment from Cai. “What?” she said, returning his stare. “Of course she should be addressed however she likes.” Her gaze swiveled to the other girl. “What would you like us to call you?”

The girl blinked, as if not used to having her opinion asked. Which, Gareth suspected, was probably true. Her brother certainly seemed poised to speak for both of them, and to guess from his behavior so far, usually did. 

Cai opened his mouth. Hari flung up a hand to silence him. His face reddened, but he obeyed. Gareth tried not to stare. 

His sister looked at each of them in turn, as if seeking permission, or perhaps checking if they were really willing to hear her out. “I am proud of my name,” she said, softly, but there was a vein of iron in her voice. “I am proud of being Welsh. But it’s exhausting to have a name you have to keep explaining. How to pronounce it. How to spell it. Sometimes it’s just easier to fit in.” 

“Easier for _them_ ,” Cai grumped. 

She shook her head, meeting his gaze. “Easier for _me_. I don’t want to Owain Glyndŵr every moment of every day, Cai. Sometimes I just want to do my homework.” She snapped her gaze back to Gareth before Cai could say anything. “Call me Carrie. For now.” 

“If they can do magic, they can learn to say ‘Cerridwen.’” 

“Eventually,” Carrie shot back. “After a dozen or so corrections. That’s what it usually takes.” 

“Carrie,” Hari said firmly, before Cai could get up a head of steam. “For now.” She slipped her arm around the smaller girl’s shoulder and squeezed. “If you change your mind, promise you’ll tell us?”

Carrie beamed. “Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

Hari snorted. “For what? It’s your name.” Then her eyes widened. She giggled, but spilled quickly over into whole-belly laughter. 

Cai scowled. “What’s so funny?”

Hari pointed at Gareth, then Carrie, then herself. But she was howling too much to talk. Cai took on the alarming look of a tea kettle about to boil. Hari held up a hand, silently asking for time. “It’s just…it’s just…” she got out after a few moments, but then dissolved into fits of laughter once more. Her eyes, wet with tears of hilarity, went from Gareth to Carrie and back again. 

Then Gareth remembered something she’d said on the train. _Hari and Gary? That would never work. Rhyming. Bleah. But Hari and Gareth? They can be friends._

Hari’s eyes met his, and he knew immediately he had guessed right. “Two rhyming names don’t work, but three are okay?” Gareth said, trying to hold in his own laughter. 

She nodded frantically, one arm clutching her side, one hand over her mouth. 

Carrie’s eyes sparkled. “Hari, Carrie, Gary…and Cai? We sound like the ghosts in Pac-man.”

Hari doubled over, tears starting to spill down her cheeks. Carrie blinked at her, nonplused. Cai moved from _tea kettle_ to _volcano_. Carrie put a quelling hand on his arm and turned to Gareth. “Do people call you Gary? You introduced yourself as Gareth.”

“Gareth,” he said firmly, instinctively. Too fast, and too fierce, he knew the next moment. Cai’s face returned to an outraged magenta. Carrie leaned back, as if caught off guard by his vehemence. 

“Sorry,” Gareth said hastily. “I mean, I prefer Gareth. But you can call me Gary, if you like.” He glanced around at them. “Just you lot, though.” He smiled, catching Hari’s eye as she _finally_ straightened up. “After all, how you can have Hari, Carrie, Gary, and Cai without Gary?” 

Hari wagged a finger at him, her face flushed from laughing. “Don’t get me started again.”

Cai scowled, looking between them suspiciously. “What’s Pac-Man?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. Hari giggled. 

With a creak, the huge double doors at the top of the stairs opened. The crowd began to move, and the four followed, up the steps and through the doorway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Friends!!!  
> Cai is a bit of a little shit tho  
> Hari and Carrie have a cute dynamic Hari Aggressively Supports™️ Carrie and Gareth is... just there :/
> 
> I’m gonna draw these two I promise!! (But probably post it next week cause there is going to be another new character introduced in the next chapter so I’ll draw all of them)  
> Also Hari takes no shit  
> Hope everyone is doing well :D  
> -Random


	8. Boevey

The doors slammed shut behind them. It was an ominous noise. Carrie gave a startled gasp. 

A tall blonde girl looked at Carrie and sniffed in obvious disdain. 

Cai bristled. “That’s my sister.” He pushed forward, putting himself between Carrie and the blonde girl. Directed at someone else, Gareth noted, Cai’s aggressiveness could be useful. The girl frowned but didn’t say anything else. 

But the boy Cai had brushed past glowered. “Watch it, you pillock.”

Cai swelled like a bullfrog. “What did you say?” He took a step closer to the other boy. 

The boy crossed his arms. He gave Cai a slow, scornful head to toe consideration, then gave a quick nod, as if he’d seen everything he needed. “Muggleborns,” he said, the side of his mouth lifting in a sneer. 

Gareth knew the boy wasn’t as brave as he wanted to seem. There was a lot worse word he could have used— _mudblood_ —but hadn’t. His sister had told him. Still, he looked angry, and Cai’s hands were clenching and unclenching. 

Cai bristled. “For your information, the Owens are ancient pureblood family.” 

The other boy tipped his nose into the air. “Oh. _Welsh,”_ he drawled, his accent growing even more plummy. 

Hari stepped between them, turning her back on the new boy and facing Cai. Her face remained calm despite his growing fury, and Gareth admired her for it. Personally, he was more inclined to take a few steps away from Cai. “Let’s take some deep breaths.” 

Cai glared at her. But then he dragged in one shaky breath, then another.

“Now a colonial,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. 

Hari ignored him, but Gareth was getting annoyed. It was time to change the subject and get rid of this guy. The annoying new boy, not Cai. He was _their_ aggressive prat. “You know, I was so excited to get my Hogwarts letter, I forgot about technology not working here. I am going to miss my smartphone, let me tell you.”

“Me too,” said Hari a moment later, giving Gareth an approving nod. 

“I know, right?” Carrie understood immediately and seized the new topic. “Tumblr. Memes. GIFs.” She feigned a swoon. “How am I to go on?”

“ _I_ want to know what’s wrong with a ball-point pen,” Cai groused. But his face was less red and its expression no longer resembled a gargoyle. 

Behind the haughty boy, one of his friends chuckled but quashed it as he whipped his head around. Turning back, he sniffed again. “You have no _appreciation_ for wizarding traditions.”

“Mister Boevey,” a high, almost squeaky voice cut across the murmurs of the crowd. “Perhaps as an advocate for wizarding traditions, you could begin the first years’ procession into the Great Hall?”

Everyone’s head swiveled. Behind them stood a small man, clad in long black robes. Of course he was, Gareth realized the next instant. The students had all changed on the train, so he’d gotten used to other kids in robes, but this was the first adult he’d seen in them. It was decidedly odd. How long would it be before he didn’t feel like the grown-ups were all walking around in their bathrobes? 

“Professor.” The boy’s face went pale under his curly black hair. “Yes, sir.” He started forward slowly, as if walking to the gallows instead of a set of doors. But they _were_ massive wooden, iron-shod doors. Gareth could admit, silently, he found them intimidating too. 

The little man pushed the doors. Surprisingly, they opened easily, and noiselessly. He watched the boy approach, then gestured to the others. “Form an orderly queue. He’s not the only first year to be sorted this evening.”

Gareth, Hari, Cai, and Carrie managed to stay together as the crowd jostled itself into a line that was more or less straight. The professor waved a hand, and slowly, the line began to move. When Gareth reached the doors and stepped through, his breath caught. 

His sister had told him about Hogwarts, including the Great Hall. It wasn’t her fault it was beyond words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have returned!!!!!
> 
> And I think we have our main human cast! School has started up and is an experience, everything is so weird :(   
> But! Have you guys heard about Rowling “returning” her Kennedy Ripple of Hope honor. (She didn’t return it she was striped of it cause of the shit she is saying about trans people and then she said she returned it in order to save face)  
> Hope everyone is doing well in the post-apocalypse
> 
> -Random


	9. Hogwarts' Headmistress

Gareth craned his neck, trying to look everywhere at once. The floating candles. The ceiling that did not seem to be there at all, bewitched as it was to look like the night sky outside. The four long tables, each full of students—and all their eyes were turned towards the doors, watching the first years file in. Gareth cringed under their stares. He didn’t like to be the center of attention, and even in the crowd of other new students he felt too many gazes on him. But then something else snagged his eyes, driving away all other thoughts. 

A lone stool waited at the front of the hall. Upon it sat the battered hat his sister had called ‘the Sorting Hat.’ Beside it stood a very short man, just barely taller than hat and stool together. He held an unrolled scroll of parchment, which was curling at the bottom, trying to roll back up. At the head table, a stern-faced woman in the center seat rapped the table with her wand. The sound was impossibly—well, magically, Gareth supposed—loud, echoing through the hall. Silence followed. 

“Thank you,” the stern woman said. “Professor Flitwick, I believe it is time for the sorting.”

“Thank you, Headmistress.” 

Headmistress? Gareth’s eyes whipped back to the stern woman. Oh no. _That_ was the Headmistress? He’d never seen anyone so terrifying in his life. Not like Frankenstein’s monster or something. Her face was pinched and severe as she watched the new students, who were already fraying out of their straggling lines. She looked _so_ much like his kindergarten teacher, who had scoffed irritably the horrible, horrible day he was so absorbed in his coloring he didn’t realize he needed to use the bathroom until it was too late and he’d wet his pants. His teacher had sniffed, then looked down her long nose, huffed an annoyed noise, and ordered him to go to the office and have them call his mother. Gareth’s heart dropped, landing with a sickening thud somewhere near his ankles. The Headmistress had said she might be able to help him. But the idea of going to her make his stomach feel full of angry snakes, writhing and snapping. His face warmed as he remembered the long walk down the hall in warm, sticky pants, the teacher’s disdain ringing in his ears. 

No way. He just couldn’t. He imagined her scornful gaze as he asked for help, and couldn’t bear it. 

“Boevey, Magnus.” 

Gareth snapped back, hearing the name of the snobby boy. His first name was _Magnus?_ For the first time, Gareth was grateful he’d chosen his own name. Who named their kid Magnus? 

Gareth looked around. Two other kids, both girls, had already been sorted, and were making their way to their house tables as Boevey approached the stool. The small wizard smiled reassuringly as the boy sat, then he placed the hat on his head. Its wrinkles flexed and creased, like it was thinking hard. “Hufflepuff!” it shouted. 

The boy jumped up, face flaming. His hands clenched into tight fists. “HUFFLEPUFF?” he cried. “No way. Just…NO WAY.” 

Silence fell like a dropped stone, so sudden and so loud the air in the hall seemed to shake with it. Slowly, the stern woman at the center of the high table stood. She looked down her sharp nose at the boy. “Mister Boevey.” 

The boy turned towards her, arms still rigid at his sides. His face went ashen. 

“Mister Boevey,” she repeated. Her stern, expectant expression let the boy—and everyone else—know she awaited an answer. 

“Yes, Headmistress?”

“You object to the Sorting Hat’s decision?”

Boevey went slack with relief. “ _Yes_ , Headmistress. I’m meant for Slytherin, _obviously_ , not Hufflepuff,” scorn dripping from his voice. 

“I see,” the Headmistress said mildly. “Your heart was set on Slytherin? Your family, perhaps, has a history with that house?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“You told the Sorting Hat this?”

More furious nodding.

“Yet it still placed you in Hufflepuff.”

Boevey raised both hands in an exaggerated shrug, a smile starting to creep onto his face.

The Headmistress tsked sympathetically. “Unfortunately, the Hogwarts Express has already departed, but I will send an owl to your parents. They can pick you up in the morning.”

The boy’s face fell. “Headmistress?” he said timidly. 

Her eyebrows rose. “You made your feelings on this matter quite clear, Mister Boevey. A placement into Hufflepuff House is unacceptable to you and your family. I am sorry to see you go, of course, but I respect your position that it would be impossible for you to remain at Hogwarts if you are not in your preferred House. As neither myself nor any of the professors may overrule the Sorting Hat, I understand your choice to return home.”

The boy’s mouth had dropped open. “But…but…” 

Gareth heard low snickering wafting from the House tables. 

The Headmistress blinked at Boevey, her mouth a thin line. Suddenly it was so quiet Gareth could hear the soft breathing of the person standing beside him. 

“Headmistress?” When Boevey spoke again, his voice was so chastened Gareth almost felt sorry for him. Almost, he thought, remembering how the boy had treated them. 

“Mister Boevey?”

“On-on second thought,” he stumbled over his words, “I would prefer to stay. Please,” he added, as her stony visage did not change. 

“In Hufflepuff?”

He swallowed visibly. “Yes, Headmistress.” Another awkward pause. “Please don’t send an owl to my parents.”

She considered him for a full, long, painful minute. “Very well.” She lifted one long finger. “But if I hear another word of complaint about your sorting, you will be packing your trunk before you can say Quidditch.”

“I understand.” He dipped his head in something like a bow. “Thank you, Headmistress.” 

She flicked her fingertips. He took the hint, not quite running to the Hufflepuff table but certainly walking briskly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boevey’s little temper tantrum is my and Maldon’s favourite scenes so far. Just a tiny little eleven year old whos sooo mad aww  
> McGonagall is awesome and takes no shit but poor Gareth is terrified :(  
> School’s being shitty so we’re trying to consistently upload so don’t touch that dial   
> -Random


	10. Listed Name

The Headmistress looked pointedly at the short wizard. Hastily, he cleared his throat and consulted the parchment roll. “Cooper, Isabel.” 

That list was alphabetical, Gareth realized, heart sinking. It would be a long time until W. His stomach tightened. Surely… _surely_ …his name would be right? It had been right on his letter, even though it had been magically concealed to keep his parents from seeing it. 

“Davin, Walter.”

But _surely_ got less and less reassuring as he watched student after student approach the stool. Gareth waited, gut twisting into tighter and tighter knots. All the first-years waited anxiously, but his new friends seemed to notice that his worry was a higher level kind of concern. Hari patted his shoulder. Carrie put her hand gently on his arm and gave it a little squeeze. Even Cai caught his eye and nodded reassuringly

_Grant, George_

_Hennessey, Liam_

_Kingston, Jennifer_

With each name, a student hurried down to the hat, then rose, beaming, and hurried even faster, amongst cheers, to their new house table. Sweat dripped down Gareth’s back. Surely the list would have his right name. Surely. Please. 

_Lee, Kyong_

_Mahinder, Priya_

_Navarre, Christopher_

“Owens, Cerridwen.” 

Carrie gasped. 

“That’s you.” Cai gave her a shove. “Make us proud.” He looked around the room suspiciously. “Did you notice how few other Welsh there are here?”

“Good luck,” Hari said, shooting Cai an annoyed look.

“Yeah. Good luck,” Gareth echoed. Making a huge effort, he pulled himself out of his own worry long enough to pay attention to Carrie’s sorting. 

The short, stout wizard settled the wrinkled hat onto Carrie’s hair. Its brim scrunched up as if thinking. “Gryffindor!”

“What?” Cai said—but softly. They’d all seen what happened to the boy who objected to the hat’s decision. “Little Carrie? In Gryffindor? She’s scared of everything.”

But Carrie did not seem to share her brother’s misgivings. The professor removed the hat, revealing her dazzling smile. She waved to her brother, Hari, and Gareth before hurrying to the Gryffindor table. They barely had a moment to stare after her when the next name was called. 

“Owens, Cai.” 

The bigger boy straightened his shoulders, looking as if he had arranged his face into stiff lines to avoid appearing scared. At his side, he gave a little acknowledging goodbye flick of his fingers to Gareth and Hari. Better new friends than the sea of unknown faces, Gareth guessed. Cai walked slowly but held his head up as he approached the stool 

The hat pondered a moment or two longer over Cai than it had his sister. But it wasn’t long before the hat bellowed “Slytherin!” 

Cai, too, was smiling broadly when the hat was removed. His gaze went immediately to the Slytherin House table. He slid off the stool and went to join them, two boys squeezing together to make room for him on the bench. 

“Just us now,” Hari said softly, squeezing Gareth’s hand. 

_Quincy, Jem_

_Rouhani, Usman_

_Sadler, Margaret_

“Saluja, Harriet.” 

Gareth clutched her hand, his mind freezing at the idea of being left alone. Hari smiled at him. “It’ll be all right. No matter what happens, whether we end up in the same House or not, we’ll still be friends. Yeah?”

Gareth had to run his tongue around the inside of his suddenly parched mouth before he could speak. “Promise?”

“Promise.” She squeezed his hand with her free one, then gently peeled his fingers away with her other. “Pinky swear.” She crooked the pinky of her now-free hand and held it out to him. Mutely, he hooked his finger through hers.

“Okay.” He swallowed. 

With a final reassuring smile, Hari turned and hurried down the aisle. The little wizard settled the hat on her hat. She jiggled as she sat, knees up, feet on tiptoes. Gareth thought with all his might at the hat: _Ravenclaw! She wants Ravenclaw! She’s perfect for Ravenclaw!_ He held his breath as the hat screwed up its battered leather in thought. Seconds ticked by. Then: “Ravenclaw!” 

Gareth felt the air rush out of his lungs in a huge, relieved blast. Hari’s grin was so wide he could see it even before the hat was removed. He watched her hurry to the Ravenclaw table, only dimly hearing the next name as it was called. Hari high-fived and shook hands, then sat on a bench in a spot hastily made for her. 

He was alone. 

Not literally alone. There were still four other first-years with him, the alphabetical stragglers, waiting to be sorted. But _alone_. His new friends were all gone. Every ounce of worry flooded back into him. _Please please please use the right name. Please. Please don’t call me the wrong name here in the hall. In front of everyone._

_Stockbridge_ , _Anthony_

_Thomas, Dallena_

_Trimble, Vincent_

Now it was just Gareth and another boy waiting. They shared a nervous look.

“Warwick, Gareth.” 

His name rang in his ears. It echoed from the walls of the Great Hall. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

He realized he hadn’t moved when the other boy gave him a gentle push. “I know that’s not me, mate, so it has to be you.” 

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” Gareth hurried down the aisle. 

The wizard smiled at him kindly as he eased himself onto the stool. The hat came down softly on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love when there is roll call and they call my name (especially in the first few months after I changed it) and we know that Cai should have been called first I pointed this out when we were proof reading this chapter and Maldon basically said shhhhhhhh   
> Cai is pushy and kinda a jerk but he’s not a bad person I promise there’s just some toxic masculinity that he needs to work through but he means well (that doesn’t excuse his actions he’s still a jerk but he can learn and grow he just needs some constructive criticism)  
> All of them are so cute :D  
> Have a wonderful day and keep your head up!   
> -Random


	11. The Sorting Hat

Gareth felt the hat slip down over his eyes, snagging on his ears. 

_What have we here?_

Gareth jumped. No one mentioned the Hal would _talk_ to him. Inside his head, granted. But talking. 

_What DO we have here? Hmmm. Hmmm. Tricky._

Gareth felt the Hat wriggling atop his head, squeezing here, wrinkling there. 

_Blast. Very well. Right. Elimination first. Not Slytherin. Unless you had your heart set…?_

_No, thank you,_ Gareth thought, hoping that was the right way to answer. He ‘spoke’ as politely as he could figure how to, inside his own head. He did _not_ want to seem like Boevey. 

_Gryffindor?_

Gareth got the impression that if the Hat had a chin, it would be scratching it. 

_Your sister was in Gryffindor…_ the Hat said invitingly. 

Gareth thought of all the exploits, adventures, scrapes, escapades, dangerous stunts, pranks, and explosions Abigail had chattered about every summer. _Um…I’d rather not. If it’s all the same to you._

_Very well, very well. But just so you know, you have ample courage. You would not be out of place in Gryffindor._

_No, thank you,_ Gareth repeated, trying his best to be polite. How did you _think_ politely? It was odd. 

_Hmmm_. The Hat shifted again, feeling his head. _Ravenclaw? You have a strong brain. It could work._

Gareth thought about being in the same House as Hari. Brilliant Hari. A houseful of people as intimidatingly bright as Hari. _Maybe? But—_ His mind clamped down. Did he dare tell the Sorting Hat what he really wanted? The house he’d hoped for ever since he’d learned about Hogwarts? 

_Speak up. Don’t be shy, boy._

Gareth shivered with pleasure at the ‘boy’ but did not answer.

_I haven’t got all day. I’m tired. Do you know how many heads I’ve examined today?_

_It’s just the one day a year, though, isn’t it?_ Gareth thought before he could catch himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth, as if that would help. 

The Hat laughed, like bells ringing inside his head. _Fair enough. I think I can guess, boy, but I’d like to hear you tell me. What house do you hope for? Which knows the song of your heart?_

Gareth took a deep breath and thought his response, clear and firm. _I have always thought of myself as a Hufflepuff._

_Hufflepuff?_

_I know,_ Gareth hastily replied, _I know I’m supposed to want one of the flashier—_

_Supposed?_ How had the Hat’s voice conveyed the sense of blinking in confusion? _Supposed? According to whom?_

Gareth gave a helpless mental shrug. _You saw that boy’s reaction. Boevey. He acted like Hufflepuff was an insult._

The Hat sniffed, as if personally affronted. Gareth supposed in a way it probably was. Boevey had questioned its professional judgement, after all.

_It was never like that to me,_ Gareth continued _. To me, Hufflepuff always seemed like…well, the nice house. The one where people aren’t plotting against each other, or trying to one-up each other in smarts or pranks. I would like…friends..., not competitors who live closer than other competitors._

The Hat was silent, as if considering. _Wise words from one so young._ It shifted again, brim squeezing disconcertingly. _But I see you have good reason to be thoughtful at your age. You are correct. Most young ones are dazzled by the brash bravery of Gryffindor, the pride and ambition of Slytherin, or the sharp wits of Ravenclaw. Few value the good hearts and fair minds of Hufflepuff._

Gareth held his breath. _Does that mean…?_

“Hufflepuff!” the Hat called. 

A cheer went up. When the Hat was lifted away, Gareth could see clapping students at the Hufflepuff table. Several waved in welcome. As he approached, some scooted over to make room for him on a bench.

One sat with his arms crossed, scowling. 

Boevey. 

In his longstanding hope to be sorting into Hufflepuff, Gareth had somehow forgotten the obnoxious boy had been assigned to the same house. Well, not _forgotten,_ exactly. He’d talked with the Sorting Hat about it. But he had apparently missed the realization that if Boevey was in Hufflepuff, and he, Gareth, was also in Hufflepuff, he would find himself in close contact with Boevey. 

Gareth barely heard the last first year’s name called (“Watson, Alexander”) or his near-instantaneous assignment to Ravenclaw. He stared across the table at Boevey, who stared right back. Then Boevey elbowed the boy beside him and jerked his chin at Gareth. “Who cut his hair?” he stage whispered. “A blind man using hedge trimmers?” 

The second boy laughed. 

Gareth told himself firmly not to blush, but he knew his cheeks were burning. 

Heads swiveled between Boevey and Gareth, like spectators at a tennis match. Gareth _thought_ he’d done a decent job with his hair, but now he imagined how it must look. Ragged and uneven, exactly like it would turn out if someone cut their own hair on a moving train. 

Boevey ran a hand through his own shining black curls. He pulled up his sleeve, faux casually, revealing a watch Gareth could tell at a glance had to be expensive. The scuffed toes of Gareth’s trainers poked out from beneath the hem of his robe. Boevey wore immaculate, gleaming black leather shoes. “Since first years can’t go to Hogsmeade,” Boevey said, flicking a glance up and down the table, “my mother promised to send care packages every week. Biscuits. Sweets. Maybe even butterbeer. Enough to share with my _friends_.” 

The Hufflepuffs looked at one other. “Chocolate frogs?” someone asked. 

“Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans?” another voice piped up. 

“Licorice wands?”

“Sugar quills?”

Boevey waved an arm expansively. “She’ll send whatever I ask.” 

Bodies shifted on the bench. The space that had opened for Gareth closed. He looked up and down the table, but no one would meet his gaze. 

Blinking furiously, he walked to the end of the bench. When he sat, the boy beside him shifted away, eyes pointedly on the head table, where the Headmistress had risen. She began speaking, but Gareth couldn’t hear. Blood pounded in his ears as he struggled to keep his first action as a Hufflepuff from being sobbing. The nice house? What an idiot he’d been. 

Polite applause rippled through the hall. The Headmistress sat. Platters of corn on the cob and roast chicken, bowls of mashed potatoes and peas, and baskets of rolls appeared on the table. Gareth stared as if he had never seen food before. Not because of how it’d just appeared; his sister had told him that part. He also knew it made been made by the house-elves. Abby had been insistent about not making extra work for the house-elves, if he and Roger were lucky enough to get into Hogwarts. Nor was it anything about the food that turned his stomach. It looked and smelled exactly like a feast should. But Gareth’s stomach was full of knots. He couldn’t eat. At that moment, he couldn’t imagine ever being hungry again. 


	12. The Common Room

Gareth trailed at the end of the line as the Hufflepuff prefects lead the group from the great hall to their dormitory. Where _was_ the Hufflepuff dormitory? Abigail had been a Gryffindor. If she knew where the other Houses’ dormitories were, she hadn’t said. Some of Gareth’s crushed excitement tried to revive at the notion of learning something about Hogwarts that his sister hadn’t known. 

As their group moved away from the other students, it was easier to make out bits of conversation that flowed around him like water in a stream. Just ahead a dark-skinned boy chatted excitedly to a red-haired girl about how much he was looking forward to Herbology class. A girl with pale blond hair nodded as another girl described nearly missing the Hogwarts Express because her Muggle parents had forgotten the directions to the platform. Up ahead, he saw Boevey talking with a much taller, sandy-haired boy as others looked on, though they were too far away for Gareth to hear their words. The sandy-haired boy laughed. Hopefully this time he, Gareth, wasn’t the butt of the joke. But then the sandy-haired boy craned his neck, looking back over the group until he saw Gareth. Gareth’s spirits sunk again. 

Although he didn’t feel like it, he forced himself to pay careful attention, memorizing the route as they went along. Only the thought of having to ask the way to his own dormitory could motivate him to focus his mind and commit the way to memory. Imagined humiliation mingled easily with remembered humiliation. Left, left. A corridor. Another corridor. Down a set of stairs. Gareth followed the clump of Hufflepuffs through a wide hallway entirely made all of stone—walls, floor, and ceiling. On the walls hung paintings of food, some huge, taller than he was, some as small as half a piece of paper. Steaming roasts. Piles of melons. A bowl of fruit. A surprisingly beautiful picture of multicolored carrots—purple, orange, white. Loaves of bread, wrapped in cloth and tucked into baskets. Bottles of wine. Gareth was absolutely certain he had never seen so many paintings of food in his entire life. Further along, in a niche on the right side of the corridor was stack of barrels, lying on their sides rather than standing upright. The end of the middle barrel in the second row, two from the bottom, had swung outward. The tall, thin prefect stood beside it. She frowned at him, the only student still in the hallway, and waved her hand for him to hurry up. 

Gareth walked faster. When he reached the barrel, he could see light on the other side. He scrambled inside and began to crawl. The bottom of the barrel gradually gave way to a dirt tunnel. The floor sloped gently downward as it went along, and the ceiling stayed curved like the inside of the barrel. He half-rolled, half-fell out the other end onto a soft yellow rug. He picked himself up, dusting at his knees, but the soil of the tunnel must have been magicked into place; his robe wasn’t dirty. Hearing the prefect making her way through the tunnel behind him, he stepped aside. 

Gareth stood, looking around. The Hufflepuff Common Room. Despite his disappointment and hurt, the sight lifted his spirits. It was as cozy and comfortable as he’d imagined. Better, even. Warm, light brown tables and chairs clustered around a wide hearth, interspersed with plush but worn enough to be welcoming couches and stuffed chairs. Carvings of dancing badgers covered the wooden mantelpiece. Over it hung a portrait of a friendly-looking woman with rumpled clothes and messy hair, holding up a small, two-handled golden cup, toasting the room and its occupants. She smiled broadly and called friendly greetings by name to the older students. _Helga Hufflepuff_ , he realized a moment later. The room itself was round, although it was large enough that the gently curving walls had not been obvious at first glance. Near the ceiling were a set of round windows, the night peeking through as if wanting a glance at the homey room. The furniture and walls were yellow and black, but green was also an abundant color around him, from the plants. On one side a stand, curved to fit snugly against the wall, filled with cacti. From the ceiling, crocheted hangers held viney plants, tendrils waterfalling down. On either side of the hearth stood round tables, also carved with dancing badgers, and on each was a giant planter with something with leaves bigger than his hands. Below the windows were a series of round doors which Gareth guessed must lead to the dormitories. 

Someone tapped his shoulder. Gareth spun. “Keep up,” the prefect said sternly. Gareth looked around in confusion until he spotted the lines of first years, boys and girls, filing into two of the round doors. He hurried to join the boys, his heart speeding up. Surely, surely, that was right. The letter had come to his proper name. His correct name had been called at the sorting. Surely he was supposed to be in this line, waiting to go into the boys’ dormitory. Of course it was where he was supposed to be, but did the castle know that? Gareth’s stomach had been clenched so much that day it was starting to hurt. When it was his turn, he held his breath as he ducked through the low doorway. Nothing happened. Nothing bad, anyway. 

He found himself in a round tunnel paved with tan stones. Ahead, the next-to-last boy (Gareth was last), disappeared around a bend. He trotted to catch up. As he rounded the curve in the tunnel, he saw that the passage opened wider, becoming an elegant but welcoming entrance. It was round, like all the other doorways in Hufflepuff so far, but it was larger. The round wooden door, reinforced with iron bands, stood open. As he watched, the last boy filed inside. He was alone in the corridor. He ran, feet thudding dully on the stones, the sound echoing softly from the walls. It was strange to be suddenly alone after having been surrounded by people all day. He wanted to linger for a few quiet moments. Of course, what he really wanted was to put off discovering if the dormitory would accept him. He knew what he should find when he walked through that door. Every student’s name waited for them on their bed, written in gold. But when he entered the room, what would he find? He wanted to believe there would be a bed with his proper name. The letter had come addressed to him correctly, and hidden, so his parents wouldn’t know. His name had been right on the Sorting list. But suddenly that seemed an entirely different matter than a dormitory and a bed where he would sleep for the next ten months. In a different room, among a bunch of girls, was there a headboard with his dead name? Had he hoped, only to now be bitterly disappointed?


	13. The Dormitory

At last Gareth forced himself forward. By the time he stepped inside, all the other boys had found their beds. The walls of the room arched gently, like in the common room, forming a circle of a room that was at once spacious and cozy. Four poster beds lined the walls. The honey-colored wood was carved with leaves and vines, and among them, the smiling faces of badgers peeking out. On each bed lay a patchwork quilt, none quite the same. 

One bed was empty. Only one.

Gareth dragged himself towards it. There were, indeed, words on the headboard, written in green not gold, but there. He both wanted and dreaded getting close enough to read them.

 _Gareth Alfred Warwick_.

Gareth stared at the green letters. It was here. He was here. Where he was meant to be. Something unknotted in his chest. He was in Hogwarts. In Hufflepuff. His name was on his bed. His _real_ name. It was as if he could breathe properly for the first time in months. No. Years. 

An owl hooted. _His_ owl, he realized the next moment. At the foot of the bed stood his trunk, and on top of it, Emeric’s cage. He hooted again as Gareth approached. Gareth slipped a finger between the bars and stroked the owl’s head. The little owl gave a happy trill. 

“What’s that owl doing here?” someone asked grumpily. Or maybe they were just sleepy, Gareth thought guiltily. It _had_ been a long day. The other boys were tromping around, some changing into pajamas, others already in bed. He yawned, suddenly exhausted. But first, Emeric. Gareth opened the door of the cage and offered the little owl his forearm. Emeric hopped up gratefully, his claws gripping noticeably but not painfully, cushioned Gareth’s sleeve. 

“Hi buddy,” Gareth said gently, running a finger down the owl’s back. Emeric half-closed his eyes and cooed. 

“Ssssshhh!”

Holding his arm stiff to provide Emeric a perch, Gareth carefully walked back to the common room, looking for a chair tall enough to reach a window. He had been worried the common room might be full of older students but apparently the day had been long and tiring for them, too. The room was empty. Red coals huddled low in the fireplace. On the walls, two sconces each had one candle glowing. Between them, they gave enough soft light for him to navigate his way across the unfamiliar room. 

His arm wobbled as he climbed up onto a chair, then to a table under a window. Emeric gave a concerned hoot. “Shh,” Gareth whispered. “Give me a minute, and then you’ll be able to go to the owlery. Or fly around to catch something for dinner, if you’re hungry.” With his free hand, he grasped the window’s handle. He tugged, but apparently the window hadn’t been opened for a while. It wouldn’t budge. 

“Leaving already?” 

Gareth’s heart sunk. He knew that voice. 

“If you’ve given up the first day and want to go home, you’re allowed to use the door, you know.”

Ignoring the voice, or trying to, Gareth gritted his teeth and pulled at the latch. _You’re the one who almost went home the first day_. He heaved with all his might, and at last the handle turned, allowing the window to tilt out. He raised his arm. Emeric’s claws tightened, then released as he leapt from Gareth’s arm to the outer edge of the now-angled window. He turned his head to blink at Gareth, then launched himself into the night. 

“I’m speaking to you.” 

Gareth tugged the window closed. He turned. Standing on the table, he was much taller than Boevey, and suddenly he felt braver. He looked at the other boy, remembering the many, many times Roger had tried to make him angry. It had never worked to respond to Roger. Pretending not to hear him was best, but if he _had_ to say something, staying calm and unruffled make Roger fly into a rage. “But I’m not listening.” 

Boevey’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. 

Gareth climbed down. Holding Boevey’s startled gaze, he ticked his chin up and walked past him, back to the passage that led to their dormitory. 


	14. Best Slipper Forward

Gareth felt good about standing up to Boevey until the next morning. He waited until all the other boys had used the washroom, then rolled his fresh clothes into a bundle, carefully hiding the ridiculous pink, flowered underpants and ruffled socks his mother had insisted on. When he came out, breathless with relief at having avoided the others, his shoes were nowhere to be found. 

He gritted his teeth. Boevey. It had to be. Gareth had left his shoes neatly tucked under his bed, but now they were gone. Cold sweat trickled down Gareth’s back. What if Boevey had decided to take his socks or underwear instead? Gareth resolved to _immediately_ find a pair of scissors to deal with the socks, but for now he rolled the offending ruffles down. He set aside the problem of the underpants. If Boevey did decide to steal them and/or hold them up to embarrass him before the others, he’d pretend they weren’t his or that his mother had accidentally packed his sister’s. 

It wasn’t that bullies didn’t frighten him. They scared him a lot. But he’d had to learn how to deal with them, both at school and at home. Roger _loved_ teasing. It’d taken Gareth a long time to realize crying or screaming just gave Roger what he wanted. While pretending not to hear Roger did not make him stop, but it reduced the number of times he tried. Gareth suspected Boevey would be the same. He wouldn’t leave Gareth alone, but if he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he’d wouldn’t try as often. 

Gareth got his slippers out of his trunk and pulled them on. Fortunately, these had been a gift from his older sister and she knew he preferred simple, non-descript clothes. They were a dark blue, almost black, comfy-soft on the inside, and were an indoor-outdoor design with hard soles, not quite shoes but more robust than the usual bedroom slippers. 

He just needed to avoid Boevey as much as possible. 

At first, that seemed like a perfectly workable plan. He at breakfast at the end of the Hufflepuff table, reading yesterday’s _Daily Prophet_ that must have overlooked by the house-elves, who no doubt had been quite busy with the beginning of the term—readying the dormitories and common rooms, cleaning the classrooms, not to mention cooking the start-of-term feast. As everyone finished up and began to drift out of the hall to their first class, Hari stopped beside him. 

“Good luck.” 

“You too.” He smiled up at her. “Not that you’ll need it.” 

Her cheeks pinked, but she looked pleased. “I’ll see you later. Ravenclaw has double Potions this afternoon with Hufflepuff.” She waved and walked away. 

Gareth watched her, heart sinking as her words seeped in. In his panic at finding his shoes missing, he’d momentarily forgotten. Avoid Boevey? How was he supposed to avoid Boevey when they had all their classes together? Feet dragging, he followed the other first-year Hufflepuffs out of the hall.


	15. History and Hari

Gareth stood in the doorway of the classroom, trying to decide where to sit. In the back, where no one could sit behind him and make faces? But that would also put him far away from the teacher. Not only would it be hard to hear, but the people sitting around him might be distracting, either accidentally or on purpose. He shuddered, imagining Boevey’s whispered comments. Front row it was. 

It turned out to be a perfect choice. True, it _had_ been startling when the professor entered the classroom through the chalkboard. But only for a moment. Abigail had told him about the ghost teacher. 

By the end of class, he was hooked. Why did everyone say History of Magic was boring? Admittedly, Professor Binns was boring. At first Gareth had to put a lot of effort into listening. Professor Binns’ voice seemed designed to put students to sleep. But before too long he could tune out the monotonous drone and focus on what was being said. Hearing soft snores, he looked around, shocked to find a sea of glazed-over eyes. Boevey had his arms folded and his head resting on them, eyes closed. 

WHY? This was amazing. The discovery of magic. The founding of Hogwarts. Conflict with Muggles. Wars with other magical races. It was all _fascinating_. Abigail hadn’t told Gareth any of this. 

Hari was waiting in the hallway when he left the classroom. He made his way to her threw the crowd of students. 

“History of Magic is wonderful. I learned—” Gareth began. Seeing her face, he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said unconvincingly. “I just wanted to ask, could we sit together at lunch?”

“Of course. Did something happen?”

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe I just want to sit with my train buddy.” The bell rang, warning them that the next class was about to begin. “Oh. We should get to class. See you at lunch?”

“See you,” he called to her retreating back. Pushing up his bag, he hurried away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s two short chapters today and could you tell that Maudlin is a historian? It’s not obvious at allll   
> Though I too have a decent appreciation of some good truth is stranger then fiction history   
> Hope everyone is having a good day!!! Remember to drink some water   
> -Random :D


	16. Professor Finnigan

Gareth flung open the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and rushed inside. He looked around the room, trying to catch his breath. Nearly every seat was already occupied, except the first row. In History of Magic, he’d sat in the first row on purpose. Gareth shrugged and walked down the aisle between the two rows of tables. He settled into a seat directly facing the chalkboard. Here too, the professor was not yet in the classroom. But at least the teacher wouldn’t be coming in through the chalkboard. Professor Seamus Finnigan was living man. 

Behind him, someone snickered. “Think you’re brave, Warwick?”

Gareth glanced over his shoulder, frowning in confusion. He rolled his eyes when he saw who had spoken and returned his gaze to the front of the classroom. 

“Shaking in your boots—oh, I mean, slippers?” 

Gareth did not need to look; he could hear the smirk in Boevey’s voice. Sighing, he glanced around the classroom. There was a large wooden desk in the center. To the right were low bookshelves, and on top of them, glass tanks of murky water. On the other side, against the far wall, stood a row of storage cabinets, their wooden doors scarred from years of use. By the door stood a lone coatrack that he hadn’t noticed when he entered the room. 

The clock ticked. Three minutes past the hour. Five minutes. 

Boevey—who else?—began to kick the legs of Gareth’s chair. Gareth gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the thumps reverberating through his chair. He looked around again, hoping for a distraction. 

Gareth rubbed his eyes. The coat rack—he felt odd saying this even inside his own head—the coat rack had just _winked_ at him. Moving staircases. Talking portraits. Ghost professor. Fine. Abigail had never mentioned winking coat racks. 

Gareth blinked. The coat rack was gone. In its place, robe flapping around his legs as he walked, a tall slender man strode down the aisle towards the front of the classroom. A collective gasp rose from the students. 

Boevey stopped kicking Gareth’s chair. From the corner of his eye, Gareth saw Boevey sit up straighter and fold his hands before him, the picture of innocence. 

“Good morning,” the man said as he reached the desk and turned to face the class. “I am Professor Finnigan,” he said, voice a soft Irish lilt. 

A buzz of whispers raced around the room. _Where did he come from? How…? Did he apparate? You can’t do that, idiot. But how did he…? Sshhh._

Professor Finnigan grinned at their surprise. His face seemed the sort of face that smiled often. 

While the other students chattered excitedly about the professor’s sudden appearance, With dawning realization, Gareth stared interestedly at the young teacher. He swiveled his head, doublechecking. No coat rack. Had…had the professor _been_ the coat rack? 

Professor Finnigan caught his gaze and winked, confirming Gareth’s suspicions. He turned to the class. “Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts.” His voice filled the room. The talk died down. Turning slightly, Gareth could see that every eye was wide and fixed on the teacher, whose smile merely widened. “Now tell me. What are you think you will learn in this class?”

Students exchanged startled looks. “How to defend…against the dark arts?” someone offered timidly. 

“Yes, brilliant. Five points, Mister…”

“Stockbridge, sir.” 

The professor nodded. “Anyone else?”

“Magic?” Boevey whispered sarcastically. 

But not soft enough. Professor Finnigan’s sharp eyes pinned Boevey. “Mister Boevey.” 

Gareth heard the other boy shift uncomfortably as he realized the professor already knew his name, presumably from his tantrum at the sorting. 

“Sometimes,” the professor said. 

“Sometimes?” Boevey blurted. “What else would we study?”

Professor Finnigan beamed. “I’m glad you asked.” He strolled across the front of the classroom, holding each student’s gaze in turn. “Let me tell you a story. Have you met Professor Slughorn yet?” 

Several heads shook. “We have Potions after lunch,” someone said. 

“Very good. So Professor Slughorn, as you probably know, was hunted by the Death-eaters during Voldemort’s second rise to power.”

There was a shiver around the room at the name. 

“They wanted him to join their cause, and they had no intention of letting him say no,” the teacher went on, voice dramatically low. “Now Professor Slughorn is a very powerful wizard. So what do you suppose he did when he thought the Death-eaters had found him at last?”

“Oo, oo.” A boy’s hand shot up. “My dad mentioned _Expecto Patronum_.”

“That’s for Dementors, dummy,” someone else said. 

The floodgates opened. 

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

“ _Levicorpus!_ ”

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

“ _Locomotor Mortis!_ ”

“ _Alohomora!_ ”

Professor Finnigan cocked his head. “ _Alohomora?_ ”

Behind Gareth, a girl giggled nervously. 

The teacher held up a hand. “Very good. You’ve learned the names of some spells. But—” he raised a finger. “I assure you, in that moment Professor Slughorn used none of these.” 

A hush fell. “Did—did he use an unforgivable curse?” someone whispered. 

The professor shook his head. "No, of course not." 

The boy sitting beside Gareth slapped his forehead. “Professor Slughorn is the Potions teacher. He used a potion,” he announced triumphantly. 

“A good guess,” Professor Finnigan smiled. “But no, not in this case. Anyone else?”

Gareth thought he was beginning to see where this was going, but he kept silent. 

“Anyone?” Professor Finnigan’s bright eyes swept the room. His hand twitched. The next instant, he was gone. In his place stood the coat rack. 


End file.
